Your sparkling eyes and blooming cheeks
Must wither like the blasted rose;
The coffin, earth and winding-sheet
Will soon your active limbs enclose.
Ye heedless ones that wildly stroll,
The grave will soon become your bed,
Where silence reigns and vapors roll
In solemn darkness round your head.
Your friends will pass the lonesome place
And with a sigh move slow along;